


introspective isolation

by cryptonesia (doomboyred)



Category: Rides With Strangers (Video Game), Scrutinized (Video Game), Welcome to the Game (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Violence, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomboyred/pseuds/cryptonesia
Summary: __scrutinized (game)__...tanner x fem! reader...after the death of your elderly mother, you abruptly move back into your childhood home, secluding yourself as your loved ones give you space to grieve.however, just when you finally begin to heal, a man breaks into your home and drugs you.sadly you begin to wonder if your days in isolation will be permanent in the worst ways possible.
Relationships: Tanner (Scrutinized)/Reader, Tanner (Scrutinized)/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

.;.

Spaghetti, butter, and black pepper. 

That's what you had for dinner. 

It wasn't half-bad, if you were to be honest. If anything, it could've even been considered delicious. 

After washing your plate in the sink, after drying it and placing back in the cupboard above, you stared at the empty kitchen, the kitchen that was filled with little stupid porcelain objects and fake fruit you couldn't bring yourself to throw away. 

Picking up the pot of leftovers, you opened your largely empty fridge and placed it inside, not bothering to switch out the pot for tupperware to make space. It's about time you went grocery shopping. Next to the fridge, on the tiny windowsill of the kitchen window, there was a shrimp with a chef's hat winking at you completely motionless. You winked back at it without much thought or care, and your eyes slowly refocused on your reflection on the glass. Even though it wasn't crystal clear, you could still tell you looked terrible. 

You walked away from the kitchen, your eyes barely scanning over the many letters and cards scattered onto the dining table, ones filled with apologizes and condolences, and turned on the television in the living room. 

_"-olice are still on the hunt for the killer of Kate Morris, a twenty-three year old college student who was found dead last week in-"_

You switched the channel and threw the remote on to the couch. 

Slowly, you made your way upstairs past the master bedroom and into your own. The walls half-bare from when you left for university seven years ago, and cardboard boxes that expressed your return were left open and mostly unattended. You closed your curtains, moving on to the small bathroom and turned on the water, undressing as it warmed. 

Just as the kitchen window reflected, you did look pretty terrible. If it wasn't the dark circles that gave it away, it was your hair that looked as if it hadn't been cared for in weeks. You took out the hair tie that kept it all in place and hopped in the shower. 

The water was soothing, so you took your time to wash your hair and lather your body with the extra fancy bath soap you touched on rare occasions. Your brain started drifting to two different places, luckily bringing it back to one before you made yourself cry again. 

Tomorrow, you'll finally leave the house in what seemed like forever. You'll go out and get some sunlight, buy groceries, and maybe even tend to the flowers that had been getting out of hand in the front lawn. Your days inside this house, alone and quiet as they were, had you almost convinced that you were in a separate dimension or even some type of liminal space. 

Maybe your brain had gone to mush from being inside for so long. 

When you stepped outside the shower, taking the crispy white towel from the rack to dry yourself and wrapping it around your body, you wiped the foggy mirror, seeing your wet hair and soft face. You didn't look too bad, and a good night's rest does tend to go far. A thought passed through your mind in those exact words, and just like that you were sad again. However, instead of crying, this time, you just grinned and sighed. 

You sat on your bed, looking around your room as you thought of the years you spent in this room and how you thought you'd never come back to this house. Not to live in, at least. 

You forgot you left the lights and TV on downstairs and quickly made your way down in your towel. There was a show about paranormal occurrences on and despite your slight interest you turned the television off, opting for sleep instead. 

With the lights off behind you, you turned to the staircase, before hearing something hit the floor upstairs. And like flies flocking to a corpse, or a strawberry dropped in bubbly champagne, anxiety began to fill inside of you. 

You knew what room it came from.

The steps creaked under your weight, the sounds of them extra loud as your ears tried to focus. 

Now upstairs, you faced the door to the master bedroom filled with hesitation. You hadn't been in this room once since your return, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't want to. Turning the knob slowly, you opened the door, flicking on the light switch and walking deeper into the room. 

Everything was lightly dusty, the bed still made with its floral bedsheets, and the lamps from the switch were dim and soft. On the floor in front of the nightstand, laid a picture frame on its front. Considering its placement, you picked it up and sat on the bed.

It was a picture of you as a kid, your smile wide, missing teeth and all. To the left of you was your father, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with age, and to your right, your mother, her face appearing not that much younger than your father. She was bent down with her hands on your shoulders, her head next to your own, smiling just as bright as you. 

_Mom..._

You found yourself smiling at the memory of that day, and you ran your hand down the side of the frame. The other picture on the stand was a picture of your father holding you as a baby. He looked younger there, maybe in his early fifties. Looking back down to the picture in your hands, your smile slowly began to disappear as the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand.

A ghost? No, not a ghost, you didn't even believe in ghosts. Or did you? You didn't know. You stood, still holding the frame in your hand as you backed to a wall and looked around.

Nothing seemed out of place, besides the knocked over picture, so you wondered if maybe there was some paranormal force at hand. Growing bold, you separated your lips and took a breath. 

"I know you're in here." 

Your body was stiff and still in anticipation, 

"Show yourself."

Silence answered you, and after fifteen seconds of just standing, you started to feel like a dumbass. 

Until the closet door opened. 

"Alright, alright, you got me." 

Your body went ramrod stiff as some random man came stepping out of your mother's closet, his head bending down in the process. He was neatly dressed, his lips fixed in a grin as his playful eyes focused on your own, shocked ones. 

He began to make his way to you as your mind blanked and the grip on the frame grew stronger, proving himself to be way taller than you had first noticed in comparison to your own vulnerable body. 

Your eyes darted down to the object he had in his hand and back up to his unwavering face. 

"What is it?"

As if his voice set you off, you threw the picture frame at him and immediately turned to the door behind you, running out and down the stairs to the dark kitchen. He was close behind you and when you made it to the dining room table, you both began to run around it until you stopped and started baiting each other on which direction to go in. 

Your jaw was screwed shut while your eyes were wired open, absorbing his every move. He looked amused and maybe even happy with the little tango you two were doing, until you figured to just make a break to the utensil drawer. 

Before you could open it he had you by behind, one arm behind you as the other drew closer with the syringe.  
You folded your body onto the counter and abruptly came up, headbutting him from behind allowing you to slip out from your grasp. 

But in a lapse in judgment on where to go, passing the front door, you ran back up the stairs again.

He followed you, of course, right on your heels and you tripped on the last step causing you to fall and for him to pounce on top of you. You began to throw punches at him as he fought you back with one arm, the other holding the syringe pointing up. When he caught your hands, you slipped out of your towel and started to get up, before he caught you from behind again, pressing your front with his own body against the hallway. You pushed him as hard as you could with your backside, causing him to grunt and back away, but that temporary freedom just made him cross his arm around you with his other elbow digging into your ribs, bringing you both down to the floor again. 

You felt the carpet against your ass as he crossed his long legs over yours rendering you unable to kick him or get up. He had his long arm over yours by the elbows, squeezing you as your chest shook while you squirmed. You tried headbutting him again but he moved back in time, resting his chin on the top of your head while your wet hair stuck to the sides of your face.

The more he squeezed you, the less you were able to move, and so he brought the tip of the needle to your neck, successfully pricking you as your vision drew blurry and your body grew numb and as your wide eyes slowly began to close...

.;.


	2. Chapter 2

Sounds… sounds of tapping. 

And stepping? Light stepping. 

Regaining consciousness, your eyes registered light from under your lids before you opened them, and when you did, you were immediately blinded. 

You moaned at the pain and squinting, trying to bring your hand up to cover your eyes before realizing you couldn't. Your arms were bound to the back of a chair along with your torso, and your feet were also bound by the ankles, although not to the chair. 

Realization struck you as memories from before you were drugged began to fill your mind. The man from before was in front of you also sitting in a chair, one foot tapping on the floorboards while his fingers tapped the armrest. He smiled at you, his small eyes squinting as he did, and you were confused by its sincerity. 

You went to speak just to be muffled by grey duck tape. 

"Sorry, I-uh couldn't take the chance of you screaming."

You glared at him and he chuckled. You began looking around in the room you were in and- 

Wait a second-

Boxes and other unused objects littered the wood planked room, and an orange rolled up carpet you used to have in your room rested against the far wall, the telltale circular window high above it. 

This was the attic. 

Your attic.

The man in front of you gave you time to assess your situation while he rested his chin on his palm, his eyes looking at you as if lovingly. 

You looked down at what you were wearing, and it was one of your mother's old lady nightgowns, one of the pastel ones with the ruffles at the collar. 

"You aren't cold are you?"

You glared at him again, your eyebrows scrunching together in the process. 

"I'll take that as a no." 

He sighed through his nose as he sat up again, smiling again to the point where it really started to annoy you.

He raised one of his hands and dropped it, fidgeting in his seat. 

"Sorry, I'm just, I'm excited." 

He leaned forward and you turned away, feeling him reach to put a strand of your now dry hair behind your ear and run his fingers through the rest until it flowed back to its resting place. 

You hesitantly turned to face him, your foreheads almost touching from the closeness. He was looking at you so fondly, and maybe, just maybe, if you weren't tied to a chair in your own house with tape around your mouth, you would've been flattered. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale, smelling the fragrance of your body wash and conditioner. And then he opened them again, only slightly, leaning and aligning his head in a way where your noses were touching, and if it had not been for the tape around your mouth, your lips would've brushed against his.

You swallowed at the insinuations of what was to become of you, and as quiet as the sound was, it brought him out of the daze as he blinked a couple times and sat back in his seat. 

"I hope you don't mind the dress."

You narrowed your eyes.

"I think you look quite cute in it."

You hummed a response. 

"What was that?" 

You hummed again, your words muffled and unrecognizable. 

"What? Hmm? Nevermind, I'm just teasing," and he ripped the tape from your mouth. 

It took you a second for your brain to register the pain, the feeling a sensitive stinging as your eyes began to tear up.

The man leaned forward again to catch your face in his hands and rub your cheeks with his thumb. 

"You're fine, you're fine, you're a big girl," he said, as if to sooth you. But instead you felt mocked. When his thumb got close to your lips you bit him, and he hissed, jerking his hand back. 

"Don't touch me," you spat, clearly unhappy with the situation. 

"Okay, okay," he laughed to himself again, sitting back and resting his hands on his knees. 

You stared at him, looking around at the floor behind and around him. He looked bare, and there was no sign of the syringe he used to sedate you just hours before. 

"H-how long was I out," your voice came out weaker than before and, for a second, you regretted even asking.

"Not long," he chirped, flicking one of his wrists to take a peek at the watch worn there, "you've been out for about 4 hours."

_4 hours… so it has to be around 3 am._

"How-" you suddenly felt lightheaded, "how do you know I won't scream?" 

"I don't. But I'm confident that if you did, it wouldn't be loud enough for anyone to hear you."

With your headache, maybe he was right. But in honesty, the thought of screaming for help with him right in front of you was embarrassing. You'd wait until he left the attic. Was he going to leave? What was he even-

"What do you want from me?" 

"Hm. I guess for now I just want to talk."

"And then?" 

He grinned, the tops of his cheeks rising with the corners of his lips. 

"Don't worry about it."

He left the attic but you could still hear him moving around in the house below you. You began struggling with your restraints, trying your best to at least slip one hand out. Your legs, bound by your knees and ankles, were free from the chair, providing a tiny bit of freedom, so you looked around your attic trying to remember if there was anything you could use to get free from the ropes. 

In the corner, hidden behind some boxes, you could see your old bed frame, and in front of it was an open box. You knew exactly what was in the box: plates you had broken in your youth you attempted to hide. You remember telling yourself you'd piece them back together, but never did. You wondered if it was enough to cut the ropes. 

You rocked forward and backward until you gained enough momentum to land on your feet. 

Being attached to the chair was quite problematic considering you'd need to turn around to pick up a shard, and with your ankles bound, your movement was very limited. Slow and steady was the way to go, but there was no telling when your captor would return to mock you, or whatever it was he wanted. 

You inched forward, shimmying side to side to gain distance, making sure you kept your balance, but all was in vain when you had to hop to stay upright, causing your entire body to fall onto the ground with a loud thud. 

With your ear against the cold wooden floor, you could hear him, your captor, walking up the stairs to the second floor. You looked up to the small attic window, the sky lighting up as morning came. When you heard his footsteps walking up the attic staircase, dread filled you as his eyes stared at you from behind. 

"Hah! What happened?" 

You could see him in the corner of your eye coming over to you. He placed something on his chair before picking yours up by the frame and dragging you back to where you were originally, which, to your disappointment, wasn't far at all. 

He kept one hand on the back of your chair as he bent to face you, waiting for you to answer.

"I lost feeling in my legs."

"Hm." 

He sat down in his seat again, the object he brought with him on his lap. It was a bowl, steaming as he swirled the pasta around his fork.

"You know. I was pretty surprised to see your fridge so empty. You seem like a pretty healthy person." 

He blew on the food, and stared at you as he put it in his mouth and began chewing. 

Your interactions with him left you conflicted with a mixture of emotions. Fear being one of them, but the main one was pure confusion. 

"Gah! Not bad for some plain spaghetti. It could've used maybe just a pinch of salt, though."

You felt insulted, but didn't bother responding. 

"I've been meaning to ask you," he said between forkfuls, "how did you see me in your yard? I thought I was pretty well hidden."

"What?"

"Last night," he said. "You saw me in your backyard." 

Your brain tried to remember but all you could think of was that small shrimp plushie in the kitchen. 

He could see you then? He was watching you then? 

Your mind began to replay the events of the previous night, trying to figure out when he got inside and how. Every door and window was locked, it would've been virtually impossible for him to get in without breaking in. But, you did find him in your mother's room, and it could've been possible that she never locked them when she left. 

He finished his plate and placed it down by his feet and leaned back in his chair, one leg bent and resting over the other.

He matched his socks with his tie.  
How classy. 

"I feel like we've sat here long enough with boring passing words. Let me introduce myself: I'm... Tanner. And you?" 

"..."

"Don't be shy now."

You told him your name. 

It came out meek and quiet, but he didn't make you repeat it. 

"Sooo. How old are you?"

"I-I'm 25" 

"Twenty-five," he repeated in a sigh. 

The sun was rising behind him, and the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling began to dull in comparison to the window's golden hour projection.

"I saw your diplomas on the wall downstairs. Impressive, are you pursuing a doctorate?" 

You stared at Tanner at his faux interest in your life. Or was he being serious? You couldn't tell. He's only expressed one face the whole time you had interacted with him and it left you on edge because of how hard it was to read him.

"Why did you break into my house?" 

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why did you tie me up?" 

"I asked something first." 

"Why are you doing this?" 

"..." 

You started to get louder, growing angrier, as his usual smile faulted but stayed ever present as he started reaching for the inside of his coat pocket. 

"What do you want from me! Are you going to kill me?" Your voice cracked and tears started to well in your eyes. 

He had taken out a syringe and a vial, slowly filling it while you had your breakdown. 

"No! Get that away from me!" 

He stood over you as you started squirming and flicked away the bubbles inside the syringe.

"Stop! Get away-MMPH-" 

He put one hand over your mouth while the other readied for your neck. 

You thrashed your head around, not allowing him a clear place to inject you. As if giving up, he leaned back, his eyes scanning over your body, and as if in a 'ah-ha!' moment, injected the venom above your collarbone. 

He held his hand over your mouth as your kicking died down and stepped away, watching you glare at him as he took a seat. 

Your body began to numb, and you began to feel extremely sleepy. 

"Fuck you."

Tanner didn't flinch from your words, "It might take you a little while to lose consciousness again but don't worry, you'll wake up."

"You're insane…"

He tilted his head as yours began to droop. 

"...why… why now…"

"Hmm?" 

"...I was finally getting over…it..."

Your eyes started to feel heavy and talking just seemed like a waste of time, so you gave up, and fell to sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

The third time you woke up, it felt different. 

Besides the telltale drowsiness and foggy memories, there was a hint of… bliss? 

Your eyes fluttered open, "...what?"

"Welcome back." 

Your head swayed back and forth testing its weight. 

"My neck… hurts," you said quietly. There was a circle of sunlight on your chest from the window, and if you were to guess, it hadn't been long since your last sedation. The thought was fleeting, however, and it was most likely the results of the drugs your captor had given you. 

"I would like to apologize about earlier. I realize that this must be a very stressful situation for you considering the circumstances. But you must understand, I didn't take much time with the last woman I crossed passed with," you heard his voice from behind, inching his way closer to your ear. Fear sprouted in the pit of your stomach, but the feeling was heavily muted. 

His hands were warm, you could feel them through the nightgown you wore, and he inched them towards the corner were your shoulders met your neck. 

The man squeezed there, just a little, as if to garner a reaction from you, but you didn't give him one. 

Unsatisfied, you felt him unbutton the buttons on your back and peel the top of your gown forward, exposing your bare shoulders and allowing his devious hands direct access to your skin. 

When he put his hands down again, he started to rub the area, and you shook your head with displeasure. 

"Don't touch me..." 

He squeezed hard and you grunted quietly in pain, the drugs making you complacent as he began to rub the tension in your neck without warning, sadistically drawing small sounds from your lips. 

"You see," he began, his voice hinting at how much he was enjoying this predicament, "the last woman I visited had to be... dealt with... faster than I had liked." 

Barely registering what he was saying, you lulled your head back to face him, "I hate you."

He slowly blinked at your statement as he looked down. His eyes trailed over your body, from the light that projected onto your chest, to your exposed collarbones up to your lips, and lastly, your half-lidded eyes and blown out pupils. 

"You don't mean that," he said softly, "you haven't even had the chance to know me yet."

"I mean it," you blinked back at him. "I hate you."

Tanner was smitten; he knew then that the woman in front of him would be one of his favorites. 

You hissed when he squeezed the spot again and you jerked your head to the side. He let go of you, petting the top of your head for a moment before he sat down in front of you again. 

"You received a letter in the mail," he said, taking an envelope out from his inside pocket, "I haven't read it yet."

"Good for you."

"Oh there's no need for sarcasm." 

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

He tilted his head, "I could do something much worse than kill you."

The threat went over your head, the corners of your lips rising as a giggle slipped out, slowly building until you found yourself in a laughing fit. 

Tanner almost looked confused, but quickly turned back to his old self. "Oh yes, hysteria: one of the side effects of Diazepam."

"You gave," you said between laughs, "you gave me that?" Breathing in and out deemed harder than you had thought you tried to stifle your little girlish giggles.

"Yes," he took out a vial, the liquid inside half empty as he read the label, "I hope I didn't overdue the dosage, but really, you gave me no choice." He placed the vial back in his pocket, picking up the letter from his lap as he looked over your body again. He was using it to stay grounded, and much to his dismay, his hands were beginning to shake. 

"I'll… have to give you something to sober you up. Although," he swallowed, "I don't mind how you are now…"

The sunlight from the window inched upwards with every millisecond, the top of the beam lighting up the base of your neck while the rest was obscured by the shadow of Tanner's head. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath-your head tilted downwards as you looked up at him, and your mouth was parted as you sucked in the attic's dry air. 

"...being more talkative, and all." 

Your mouth slammed shut, and Tanner unknowingly ripped a tear in the letter he had in his hands, his head snapping down to it. "Yes! Let's get to ah… reading."

Calmed down from your fit, you looked around the room, your mind thinking up outrageous ways to escape. 

"This one's from Mason McManus… heh, that's quite a funny name."

"...like you're one to talk." 

Tanner looked at you again with a sparkle in his eye, "I suppose you have a fair point." 

He ripped open the envelope, a yellow tinted paper inside, and took out the letter. "And it's handwritten! How old fashioned…" 

You weren't really concerned with what he was doing, the window in the room showing you just how bright and blue the sky was, and how you were missing it. 

"Dear (Y/n), I'm so sorry about what happened to your mom. I know that you two were close. I tried reaching out to you online, but you didn't answer any of my emails so this is my last resort. I wasn't sure to go to your house, but I didn't want to invade your privacy. I'll admit that things have been difficult between us, but I just want you to know that I love you, and if you ever need me, I'll be there for you... Love, Mason"  
  
He read it again to himself quietly, soaking up all of the details. 

"Now tell me, just who is this Mason McManus fellow? Is he your boyfriend?" 

He looked at you, expecting a response.

"It isn't really your business is it, Tanner?" You put emphasis on his name, displeased by the sound of his voice. All he did was smile, that fucking smile. 

"Oh you don't really _have_ to tell me. I already know everything about you." 

"Hah, really?"

"Yes. Really."

"That's funny," you said, raising an eyebrow, "because I know everything about you."

It was Tanner's turn to scoff. 

"No! Don't laugh. I know everything about you. I know that you aren't a real doctor and that you bought that so-called lab coat off of etsy for three cents."

"Three cents?"

"Yeah. I also know that you think your haircut is cool, when it's actually pretty douchey looking!!"

"What…?"

"Uh huh, and lastly, what you're most insecure about, is your billboard forehead!"

"My… billboard forehead?" 

"Yes," you nodded.

"Are you done?" 

"For now."

Tanner began meticulously folding up the letter and placing it back into its envelope.  
"Well," he sighed, "I know that you were an accident." 

Your ears perked at his statement. 

"You were a surprise, as your parents thought they were too old to have a child, but despite the complications of your birth, you were born a healthy 7.2 lbs."

"You could've guessed that."

"Really? How about the fact that when you started school, you were bullied because of your elderly parents and to distract yourself, you devoted all your time to studying. But their mocking and jokes still got to you, didn't it?"

You watched him carefully as he put the letter to the side, and slowly slid off the chair to the floor, his eyes not leaving your own one second. 

"It wasn't until your father died when you were 15 did your grades falter. And people, although trying to be sympathetic, told you that it was something to be expected." 

He crawled over to your side, his head tilted over your lap.

"And when you were 17…"

He snaked his hand on your tied ankles, and began to drag his fingertips upwards under your gown. 

"You were hit by a car. Leaving you with a scar… on the inside of your left thigh…" 

You tried pinching his hand with your roped together knees, but before you could, he slipped his hand out and settled his hand on the back of your leg. 

He was leaning his head fully on your lap now, looking up at you with his usual childlike expression. 

"You're a stalker."

"All I did was do my research." 

You kicked your leg up and he let go, but to your dismay, just placed his hand down under his chin. He was starting up at your delirium, his eyes innocent while his thoughts took on a darker nature.

_"I can't wait to taste you…"_


	4. !mini chapter!

_"Alright, let's get some work done..."_

Lack of air conditioning in the summer proved to be quite the problem for Luna: she had to keep all her windows open during the day and closed during the night. 

She made her way around her house, from the guest bedroom window all the way to the tiny kitchen window above her sink. 

It was already June, and her search for her cousin's murder was still on the loose after all this time.

Leaving the window next to her desk open, she could easily hear the crickets and cars that would occasionally pass. 

Her PC was plain, but functional, as it's purpose purely served as a tool for her work. 

Stretching her neck and arms, Luna leaned into her chair and turned on her monitor. 

"What do we have tonight..." she asked herself in a whisper. 

The first report appeared on her screen:

** SUSPICIOUS PERSONS REPORT **

  


**SUSPECT:** ** (Y/n) (L/n) **   
**DATE:** ** 06 - 02 11: 32 AM **   
**SEX:** ** Female  ** **HEIGHT:** ** Unknown ** **HAIR:** ** (H/c) **   
**AGE:** ** 25 ** **WEIGHT:** ** Unknown ** **EYES:** ** (E/c) **

  


**REPORT:**

  


It's been a while since I heard from my friend, (Y/n), and I've been starting to get worried. I tried calling her and  emailing her, but all the calls went to voicemail. I went over to her house and knocked on the door a bunch but she  hasn't answered at all. She's been in a pretty bad mood since a family member she was very close with passed. 

  


Luna could understand what that felt. She sighed, taking a sip of the coffee on her desk and continued the report.

  


I asked the police to do a wellness check but they said that it made sense for her to want to be alone for a while. I just want to be sure she hadn't done anything stupid. 

  


Opening the D.M.V.DB, Luna entered the information she was given, instantly finding a match. She didn't bother checking Social blade, as appearances on social media were crafted and deceiving, opting to go straight for the SIMDB.

  


The person wasn't lying when they said they had tried to contact her. Missed calls and text messages filled up under one contact, but the others were relatively scarce. The other read messages the woman had all went relatively the same way:

  


-im going to take that some time alone  
-are you sure?  
-yes  
\---  
-how have you been holding up?  
-ive been alright

  


Plain as they were, it wasn't exactly evidence that would suggest something had happened to her.

  


Her search history wasn't really incriminating either, except for the "where to successfully pirate Shrek 5," which Luna willfully ignored.

  


She brung up the woman's credit card history:

  


_Cardboard boxes, cleaning supplies, a streaming subscription... there's nothing here. Sounds like_ _she's_ _just ignoring you, buddy._

  


Luna clicked on the report, slowly dragging it to the shredder icon, but something made her stop...

  


She gripped onto her mouse with her finger index finger properly pressed down on the right click, the tension in the room rising with every second-

  


And then she sneezed.

  


"Woah," she dropped the paper in the shredder and stood from her seat, closing the window next to her and returning back to her desk.

  


_Must've been the breeze..._

  


...

  


...

  


...

  


You were drugged again, bound to a chair with bruised wrists and ankles, and although you didn't do anything wrong this time, you figured it was because he liked experimenting on you.

  


Tanner caressed your smooth bare legs, petting you like some animal.

  


"How do you feel?" His voice came deep within his chest like a purring kitten.

  


"Like..." You couldn't really speak.

  


"I don't think it's kicked in yet," he said truthfully. "Maybe you need something to eat to wash it down."

  


Instead of injecting you with the drug like the last couple times, he pried open your mouth with his large hand and popped the syringe inside in a lewd display that made you feel humiliated. You tried to fight it with your tongue, but instantly gave up when Tanner explained that if it punctured the muscle, it could swell, and render you unable to make any form of speech.

  


He was looking up at you from your lap, blinking occasionally.

  


"You smell so nice."

  


"..."

  


"I complimented you. Aren't you going to thank me?"

  


He stopped petting you, and you instantly felt cold again.

  


"...thanks?"

  


His grip on your leg tightend, "yes. yes. you're welcome..."

  


Tanner's smile was so bright, the apples of his cheeks rising like a child's.

  


"...you're so very welcome."

  



	5. Chapter 5

The sun was setting; the day had felt like a week. 

Returning from downstairs, Tanner made his way in front of you with a tray and placed it down on his chair. He was wearing a frilly pink apron with the words Best Mom across the pocket, and you felt angry at his blatant disrespect for your mother's things. 

"I took the liberty of whipping up a couple things for you, I know that you must be hungry."

He brought the chair over directly diagonal from you, and when he sat down your knees were touching. The tray had a plate of pancakes, the sides crisp and golden, and a glass of water. Besides them was a fork, and an obnoxiously long knife you could've sworn wasn't yours. 

"Hope you don't mind having pancakes this late, but you really had nothing else in your kitchen." 

The aroma steaming from the food made you feel hungry, but, you weren't going to let him know that. 

"I, personally, prefer my pancakes homemade instead of the cheap instant recipe stuff," he began, using the huge knife and fork to divide the pancakes into pieces, "but considering your mother's dead, I'm just going to assume you haven't had anything homemade in awhile."

You rolled your eyes at him and watched as he put the knife down next to the plate. He picked up a piece of the pancake with the fork, and inched it over to you. 

"Open wide~" 

You just stared at him, blinking coldly at his smile beyond the fork. "Don't you think there's something wrong here?" 

His reach faltered and he looked at you in confusion, "I don't know what you mean." 

"Really?"

You wobbled back and forth in your chair, clearly unhappy with his innocent act. "I'm strapped. To a chair." 

"Well, I can't just have you escape. Tying you down was the best option I had besides taking you over to my place. But since I'd have to bring you back after I was finished with you anyways, I figured it was more convenient to just tie you up here considering no one is going to come for you. Now open up. Ahh~"

Tanner brought the piece up to your mouth, waiting patiently as you thought over what he said. 

Was he right? Were you alone in this? You knew that if it weren't for the drugs in your system you'd be having a mental breakdown right now. If he did kill you, would the police just assume it was a suicide? No, of course not. There's no way you could've tied yourself up, but what if he moved you? What if, after killing you with whatever poison he decided to give you, he'd untie you and place you in your bed? As if one day you just went to sleep and never woke up? 

"Don't make me force feed you. I'm trying to be nice. You can't deny I've been quite considerate of your distress." Tanner wasn't kind. He wasn't a nice person. But for some reason, your brain was betraying you, telling you things that normal you wouldn't as it slowly began to agree with him. Besides breaking into your house, and drugging you, and tying you to a chair, he really hadn't _really_ harmed you, did he? 

His eyes wrinkled when he smiled, as if he convinced himself that he _was_ being considerate of you. You: a woman held hostage in her own home.

You opened your mouth, figuring there was no use to resist. 

"Good girl."

Your eyes drifted to the knife as you chewed and a childlike voice in your head asked why he would need such an oversized thing. 

"Now, for a sip of water," he brought the glass up to your lips, urging you to drink. You obliged him, until his angle on the cup grew more obtuse. He had a maniacal twitch in his brow as he stared, enjoying your struggling and watched as your throat bobbed up and down. 

It was too much for you, and in a mistaken inhale, you started choking.

Sputtering water all over Tanner's face and apron, you struggled for breath as he spilled the rest of the water on the front of your gown. 

"What… the hell…!?" You closed your eyes as you choked, faintly hearing the sound of the cup and tray being placed on the floor. "Were you trying to… drown me?" 

When you looked up, Tanner was standing over you. His smile was tight, strained, and his eyes were wide. You knew that you should've been afraid, but something prevented you from truly feeling it. And in a blink of an eye, Tanner's strong veiny hands were wrapped around your throat. 

He was strangling you. 

_He was strangling you._

Your hands started to twist in their restraints, fighting with all their might to try and push him away. Your legs weren't much help either; they were numb and every time you moved them, a thousand needles stabbed under your skin. 

"Hah…Ack-" you couldn't breathe, your eyes stinging and causing tears to stream down your cheeks and onto your assailant's already wet hands. It hurt— _he_ was hurting you—it was what was to be expected of a sociopath like him, but what you didn't expect, was the creeping feeling in your abdomen, slowly inching itself upwards to the crown of your head. Suddenly, the feeling of his large hands around your throat and the water drying on your bare chest was the only thing you knew. 

Tanner watched as your pleading face changed right before his eyes. You were smiling a shaking smile, the corners of your lips twitching as your mind left again. 

Taking notice of your sudden shift in attitude, the man let go as if his hands were burned and quickly turned around while you struggled to get oxygen in your lungs. Through what your vision could see, he brought his hand up to wipe his face, but other than that, there was no emotion you could detect from his back. 

Was he going to drug you again?

Your mind and body were both physically exhausted by the combination of chemicals that you were being injected with, and you wondered when the next one would kill you. 

Tanner, swift on his heels, turned around, and immediately headed for the creaky attic stairs, leaving to the second floor.

You tried listening to hear where he was going, but his footsteps had gone silent. You wondered if he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting and listening to see if you would do anything. 

But you heard something, something so faint and subtle you half thought it could've been an hallucination—the sound of a door closing. 

No, not the outside door, there was no way he would leave when the sun was still present in the sky. People will be returning from work soon, so the chance of him being seen by a neighbor was inevitable. So he was still inside the house, that much was certain. 

Your eyes trailed to the knife he had left. 

_What was he going to use it for?_

You were too exhausted to care about the noise your chair made scraping against the wooden floors as you drew closer to the knife. When you were directly above it, you used your feet to stand it up vertically, squeezing it between the tiny sliver of space between your ankles and forcing it back and forth on your ropes. 

The knife was sharp, way too sharp than it should've been, and the plate next to it rattled with every moment you made. 

And then you were through, the knife falling over as your restraints finally broke apart. 

You were frozen, wondering about what you had just done. It was as if your body was on autopilot while your mind just watched. He heard everything; he had to. 

_What would he do to you?_

Your ankles were bruised and cold. Now that you could move half of your legs there was not much else you could do. If you could turn around and get the knife in your hands, you could cut yourself loose and get away from this house. Call for help. 

His footsteps were back. You could hear them walking around where your room would be. Maybe he didn't hear you. He wasn't as fast as he was when he left. His footsteps were slower, languid even. 

What was he doing in there? You couldn't really dwell on it. Maybe, if you laid on the floor, you could get the knife in your hands. You moved the knife as quiet as you could off the tray, the object falling to the ground in a mellow thud. 

_Did he hear that?_

You listened, stilling your rapid breath and focusing your ears on the movement downstairs. 

He wasn't walking around, not from what you could hear, but his steps were known to vanish from time to time. 

You took your chances and continued. 

The knife was in position, now your body was next. You realized that there was no way for you to get sideways without making any noise and you weren't sure you were quick enough or able enough to cut the ropes and use the knife to your advantage when he got back to you. 

As if hearing your thoughts, Tanner's steps appeared again. He was walking out of your childhood bedroom, around the ways of the staircase to the downstairs part of the house, and walked up the stairs to the attic. 

His presence brought a miasma of poison and death, filling up the room without any consideration to you and the ghosts that lived there. 

"It seems that you had no problem keeping busy while I was gone." He stood in front of you, his eyes darker than usual and his smile more like a smirk—sly deceiving like a deadly weasel. 

His face was dry and flushed with red as he observed your face, not even sparing a glance to your almost free legs. He was buttoning up his lab coat, hiding the new wrinkles he had in the white dress shirt underneath. Your mother's apron was nowhere to be seen. 

Tanner didn't look away from you as he picked up the knife from the floor, teetering the tip on the point of his index finger. 

"Hh, hhm, hm."

He pressed the flat side of the knife on your cheek, its coldness searing your skin as you tried not to move. His hand smelled of lavender, the fragrance reminiscent of the hand soap in your bathroom. 

"Hmm, hhhm." 

He was walking around to your back, the knife staying flat until he was all the way there, the object threatening you with your own wide eyes in its reflection when he brought it away from you. 

You stayed still, unsure of what was to come.

Tanner pressed his palm against the back of your neck, his fingertips pressed against your scalp as he slowly dragged them up under your hair until he reached your forehead. 

Tapping, just like he did when you first gained consciousness. He was breathing deeply in a way that put you on edge. His fingers pulled back sharply and his grip tightened around the strands of your hair. 

The knife found its way to your throat, and Tanner played with the dull side against the red blemishes he caused there. 

When he brought your head back, you let out a shaky breath. 

"Shhhhh, I know. I know."

You closed your eyes, unwillingly to look at whatever expression he decided to grace your eyes with at the moment. He drew a line on your throat, testing to see if you would give him a reaction. But you didn't—you couldn't—the actions of flinching and shaking were far far in the deep recesses of your mind, muffled by white noise and muted feelings. 

He let go of you, bending down and grabbing a hold of your restraints. Your eyes shot open. He was cutting the ropes by your hands, misleading you into thinking you would be free. 

When he was finished, he stood again, the ropes that once attached you to the chair falling to the floor. 

He swiftly turned around to catch your face of slight surprise, and put a hand on your cheek, leaning in and using his thumb to open one eye. 

"It doesn't look like you'll need another dosage," he moved on to your other eye, your pupils dilated, "but if you try anything again while I'm gone, I won't hesitate to give you another."

He stepped back, looking over your body with a tilted head and then turned to his own chair, moving it back where he found it in the corner of the room. "It's a shame you don't have a basement. The cellar is far too small to operate in... not to mention how it's filled with gnomes, but, I digress."

Tanner picked up the tray, winking at you as he passed, daring you to move from your seat. 

You knew that he was going to be right back, but if he was going to the kitchen it should spare you a couple seconds. 

You stood on wobbly legs, your elbows sore from being in the same position for so long, and looked towards the window. The sun was already set on the other side of the house, gone to mark the morning elsewhere in the world where people were waking up to go to work or school. Not to strapped chairs and pharmaceutical sociopaths. Could you fit through? Probably not. And even if you did, would you survive the fall? There was no way to brace yourself if your hands were tied, and falling head first would be…

Your vision became spotty and you couldn't see. Feeling lightheaded, you just sat back down, slouching over as you tried to clear the clouds in your eyes with blinks. 

You heard Tanner humming as he reached the attic stairs again, walking over to the center of the room. You looked up, seeing his dress shoes move as he unfolded something in his hands. A tablecloth? 

Blue and shiny, Tanner opened the plastic tarp he had in his hands and spread it across the expanse of your attic floor. 

Satisfaction spread across his face, and when he caught onto your staring he turned his and smiled, making his way over to you. 

He brought your chin up, "I know that you must not be feeling very well. The combination of midazolam, diazepam, and ketamine must be taking a hefty toll on your body." He turned to the side of your chair and picked you up, "not that you will have to worry about it any longer."

Tanner placed you on the tarp, looming over you as your eyes trailed off to the window. 

"The symptoms must be hitting you in waves, which, isn't exactly _unusual_." 

It was so dark outside.

"I, to be very honest, haven't been the most technical when it came to what to give you or how much. I mean, this experience wasn't meant to be serious at all. More casual. A treat, maybe, for all of my hard work." 

A car passed.

"...what are you going to do with me?" Your voice was weak, so weak and quiet that you wonder if he could even hear you. 

You felt the tip of a knife on your leg, and he dragged it across the smooth skin of your legs, blood hesitantly showing itself. 

You brought your leg closer to yourself in an attempt to get away from him, the cut stinging like a million needles. 

"Nothing you'd like to be conscious for." 

Fear. Was that what you would call it? 

Ever since he put you down, you felt as if you were watching the credits of your life rolling over the scene. Over his sadistic smile and deceitful eyes. 

He stood over you again, your eyes watching him in the corner of your eyes. As if he was thinking about something. Mulling some over. 

"You know what?"

He grabbed the skirt of your dress, cleaning the tip of the knife on it, "I change my mind."

You blinked, waiting for him to continue. 

"I'll admit that I was feeling a _bit_ arrogant when tying you up here. Don't be mistaken, the idea of slashing you up and leaving you here until your blood soaks through the floors is an interesting idea to play with, but in reality, I feel as if I don't exactly have the merits to pull it off, if you know what I mean."

"What…?" 

"What I'm saying is," he reached into his coat pocket, slowly, and your mind joked that he was going to propose. It wouldn't have been the first time someone did something so stupid in a time so unprecedented. 

"Is that I'm taking you with me." 

"What?" 

His syringe was already full. You wondered what drug it was this time, backing away with the bottom of your gown sticking to your bloody leg. 

"Don't be too difficult with me, now." 

You resisted him the best you could, but it was pretty much worthless. He was practically sitting on you, the liquid from the tip of the syringe glowing from the one light bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

"Please… don't" 

He looked so happy. 

"You'll be fine. I'll be there waiting for you when you wake up." 

The needle was pressed against your neck now, prodding it's way into the skin, but just before he could press down on the plunger…

Every single light in the house… went out. 


	6. Chapter 6

  


Darkness draped itself over everything in the room. 

"Well, this is... unexpected."

Tanner leaned back, smiling at you, and tapped the plunger in a silent threat. 

The tip had already punctured you just as the droplets that oozed out had already begun to enter your bloodstream. All Tanner had to do was press down and finish the job, but, to your disarray, he didn't. 

Tanner stood, the soles of his leather shoes on both sides of your waist, and tilted his head oddly quiet. 

"The breaker switch is in the cellar." 

Even though it was a statement, you felt inclined to nod. 

He sighed and stepped over your body, his dress shoes crunching on the tarp, sounding annoyed. 

There was a yellowish light from the attic window, most likely from the street light across the street, so you knew it wasn't a neighborhood blackout. 

Tanner began walking towards the staircase in silence before abruptly turning around, "ah, I almost forgot."

Making his way towards your body, you stayed deathly still, afraid he was going to push down on the plunger after all, but he instead picked up the knife, "Can't let you play with this while I'm gone, can I?"

You didn't let out any signs of relief, but deep down, you felt it. 

He smiled at you, something you instantly recognized as a way for him to reinforce the insinuations of his statements, and slowly left the attic, down the stairs on to the second floor. 

When he was out of earshot, you took notice of how much better you could see than when the lights were on. There was no stinging caused by the brightness of the hanging bulb or the twinkle of reflective objects in your peripheral. It was satisfying in a way. Soothing. 

Sitting up, you tried moving your shoulder to get the needle out of your neck, the action proving to be harder than expected due to the amount of abuse you had received there. Accidentally pressing down on the plunger caused fear to finally make its comeback in the pit of your stomach, and you froze in panic. 

Taking in a slow and ragged breath, you tilted your head and used your shoulder to turn the needle, the tip turning and successfully falling to the plastic below. 

Exhaling, your mind quickly turned to the box of broken plates. 

You swiftly moved your legs under your body in an attempt to stand, but the gash on your leg stung and brought you back down. 

Trying again, you brought your legs in front of you, bending them despite the burn and blood on the cut, and took your tied wrists under the swell of your backside and feet. 

With your hands in front of you, you started crawling on your knees to the box, the sound of the wet tarp assaulting your ears without sympathy. You shifted through the shards, trying your best to find one that was sharp enough to get through your bindings.

However, under the sound of clinking glass, the steps of the attic creaked under the weight of a slow moving body. 

Your ears twitched, but you tried your best to ignore it, and you continued searching until the lights came on and a heavy boot stopped on the edge of the tarp of the floor. It was then you realized that these footsteps... were unknown to you. 

You turned around as fast as you could, a glass shard in hand, pointing it at the mysterious figure in the middle of the attic. 

The light bulb behind him prevented you from seeing his face, but his frozen stature made you wonder if he was just as surprised to see you as you were him. 

He was huge, dressed in all black, and bald. 

"...who are you?" You weren't scared of him; you were just frightened in general. 

He took a step forward with one hand in front of him, making his way to where you were in the room. 

"S-stay back!" You sounded pathetic; you cringed internally at how weak you sounded. 

The man, although questioning why you were tied up and bleeding, treaded towards you with gentle steps like he was approaching a wounded deer in the forest.

Movement behind him averted your attention, and you swallowed at the sight of Tanner inching up the stairs silently. His expression wasn't short of utter malice, and his grip on his knife was so strong you could see the whites of his knuckles. He raised the knife, ready to stab the newcomer in the back.

"Behind you!" 

The man turned just in time, catching Tanner by the wrist and forcing him against the railing of the stairs. He threw a punch and Tanner dodged, squeezing out from the space and slashing at the man, which the man narrowly avoided. 

As the two fought, you shook yourself out of the daze of watching and started cutting through the ropes of your knees. The edges of the glass began to slice the joints of your fingers, but the pain was lost under the amount of adrenaline that was rushing through your veins. 

With your legs free, you moved on to your wrists, but the thickness of the shard made it impossible to squeeze it between the ropes.

You gave up on the shard and turned your attention to the stairs instead. With your head low, you tried your best to stay unnoticed by the other two. The clattering of Tanner's knife caused you to freeze as it spun its way to your feet. 

When you looked down, you could barely see your own reflection through the streaks of your own blood. A loud thud, grunts, hisses, the bald man was on top of Tanner and his gloved hands were wrapped around your acquaintance's throat, trying his best to squeeze the life out of him. 

" _(Y/n)_..." you heard him say, "the knife." 

You picked it up, your sight shifting between the object and his shiny, gritted, teeth. 

Tanner had one hand gripped around the bald man's wrist and the other outstretched towards you, beckoning you to pass him the weapon. His eyes shifted to look at you. 

You looked down, sticking the knife between the space between your wrists, and cut the inside of your arm in the process. You brought the sharpness against your restraints and quickly got them undone, taking a glance at Tanner's shocked expression and abandoning him there, knife in hand. 

You almost tripped down the stairs to the second floor but caught steady when you grabbed onto the railing, dropping the knife in the process. Your head was spinning, but you knew you had to push yourself further if you were going to make it out of this situation alive. 

Your bedroom door was open, but the light was off. You couldn't remember where you left your cell phone at all, and figured your luck lied with the home phone downstairs. From the steps, you could see that only the kitchen light was on, the lights oddly dim and weak.

The sounds of the two men upstairs never ceases, and just as you made it to the bottom of the stairs, you heard someone fall down the stairs to the attic. 

You moved faster, limping your way to the cold pink phone next to your living room couch, and dialed 9-1-1 without hesitation. 

They were fighting in the hallway now, and you started to silently cry at the ringing in your ear. 

_Pick up. Pick up. Pick up._

"9-1-1 what's your emergency?" 

"there's two men in my house. They're fighting... I'm, I've been drugged-I'm bleeding-I"

"Calm down, ma'am. Can you repeat what you said again clearly?" The operator was apathetic and cold. 

"There's two guys in my house... I'm drugged-One of them-"

"What's your address," the operator interrupted. You shrieked in frustration. 

"I- I live at 241 Newbury"

"Street? Avenue? Lane?-"

"STREET FOR GOD'S SAKE THERE'S ONLY ONE NEWBURY"

"there's no need to be rude ma'am."

Your hands shook in anger, and before you could properly react, the operator spoke again. 

"A patrol car is already on their way and paramedics will be there shortly."

The sounds from upstairs stopped. You put the phone next to the receiver and looked in the direction of the staircase, questioning who would appear from them. 

"Ma'am? Please stay on the line."

Your heart rate began to decline and your head started to feel clouded again. Was it from the bloodless? Or another wave of disabling side effects? With your luck, it was probably both. 

There were steps, quiet steps, making their way down to the ground floor. 

"Ma'am?" 

You quickly hung up. 

"I already called the police." You said aloud, waiting to see whose shoes would come into view. 

The steps stopped. 

"You're done."

You heard sirens in the distance drawing closer and closer to your childhood home. 

The person wouldn't reveal themselves to you, and hid in the darkness. 

Flashing lights shone through your curtains as the sound of car doors closed outside. 

The figure in the staircase began to back up, ascending up instead of facing you for the last time. 

The police only yelled one warning before they broke down your door, the sound causing you to flinch as you clutched the table to keep yourself upright. 

"Hey-hey!" One officer rushed forward, catching you before you could fall over. "Check upstairs," the woman said to her partner, propping you up by her shoulder as she carried you outside to the ambulance. 

You could see nosey neighbors peeking their heads out from their doors, some even becoming bold enough to approach the other police cars that pulled up. The officer that carried you was talking into your ear and then to the other officers when you were deemed unresponsive. 

The rest was a blur. 

You were put on to the stretcher while the EMT's spoke over your body, the medics lifting you into the ambulance and closing the double doors behind them as they got to work. 

In the distance, a figure watched expressionless as the truck turned the corner, its sirens fading away with them into the haze of the night.  
  
  


. . .  
act one: end.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the MC finally escapes.   
> But how long will it be before she's faced with danger yet again?


End file.
